Chapter 3 - “THE DINOSAUR GAME”Rosie did not tell us the entire story that night.
She shouldn’t have had to.
A child-protection interviewer later explained why adults make mistakes after a child discloses something frightening.
We want the whole sequence.
Immediately.
Who?
How?
Why?
How many times?
Who saw?
We think more questions equal more protection.
Sometimes they equal contamination.
At the hospital, I asked too much.
“Did Bethany slap you?”
Rosie nodded.
“Did Grandma see?”
She buried her face.
“Did anybody help?”
Julia touched my arm.
“Aaron.”
I stopped.
The specialist, Dr. Melissa Grant, said gently:
“Let the trained interviewer handle detail later.”
So we shifted.
Does anything hurt?
Do you want water?
Do you want Mommy?
Do you want Daddy?
Rosie wanted both of us.
That was allowed.
Around midnight she said one thing without prompting.
“She did the dinosaur game.”
I looked at Julia.
Neither of us knew what that meant.
“What dinosaur game?”
Dr. Grant raised a hand.
I shut up.
Rosie whispered:
“The sticky circles.”
That was enough for now.
At home the next morning, police photographed a bag of party favors recovered from Bethany’s house.
Foam masks.
Plastic dinosaurs.
Temporary tattoos.
And small suction-cup darts used with a child’s target toy.
The cups were almost exactly the diameter of the marks on Rosie’s arms.
That did not prove Bethany applied them.
But it gave the marks context.
Later Rosie would explain that Bethany pressed the suction cups hard against her arms, let them stick, then pulled them away while laughing.
When Rosie cried and tried to leave, Bethany grabbed her arm.
Rosie yelled.
Bethany struck her cheek once.
Then Rosie ran into the guest bathroom.
Bethany followed.
Rosie got behind the toilet.
Bethany left when somebody called her from the dining room.
A joke.
That was Bethany’s word.
Rosie’s word was different.
May you like
“Mean.”
Sometimes four-year-olds are excellent at precision.
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